Untitled
by QueenOfSpain
Summary: Man, I need to get a title on this thing... Holmes takes care of a girl, but will he end up getting her killed? His line of work is pretty dangerous...


This is a reposting of the old chapter 1. The original was awful, and though this isn't perfect, it'll work. It would be nice to have a beta reader. If anyone has the time and wants to, let me know in the review box. ______________________________________________________________________  
  
Holmes' lanky figure stood before the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down on the rain- beaten London, with his stony features fixed in a frown. He silently wondered, no predicted, what sorts of dangers and evils that lurked in the filth- ridden crevices of this city, and the sorts of harm innocent people may come to. Reluctantly, he drew himself away from the morbid reverie and turned to fix the young lady curled in the armchair with a cold hard glare.  
  
"What were you thinking?" Holmes was referring to how Lainia, the girl trusted to his care, had gone out alone after a criminal and may have caught him, if it weren't for the mortal danger she had put herself in. Holmes ended up charging to the rescue in the nick of time. Lainia thought he was being ridiculous. She was a big girl now.  
  
"There's the problem. Thinking can be a dangerous exercise." Lainia arched an eyebrow. "I guess I take after you more than we originally thought."  
  
Holmes hard façade almost broke, but he held his ground. "Just because I do something, doesn't make it alright for you. I'm specially trained in my profession."  
  
"Specially trained by yourself, if I'm not mistaken..." Lainia murmured.  
  
"...I am able to defend myself against large men.. Besides, if something should happen to me, the only person I would have to answer to would be myself..."  
  
"...And Watson, and me, and the rest of the world, and..." Again, she murmured.  
  
"...But if something happened to you..."  
  
"Alright, Holmes, alright. I get the picture."  
  
"So you promise not to do it again?"  
  
"Only if you stop sounding like my father."  
  
Holmes smiled. "Deal." He turned back to the window.  
  
"So," Lainia said offhandedly. "Did you get your guy?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I did."  
  
Lainia tried to hide her pleasure. "Good."  
  
"I hate to admit it," which wasn't a lie, "but you helped in his capture."  
  
"I know." She smiled disarmingly. "Want a tea?"  
  
Holmes cringed at her use of grammar and wondered at what those schools back in the states were teaching the children for them to talk like Lainia did. "Who wants the tea?" She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'd like a cup." She disappeared round the corner.  
  
At that moment, Watson walked inside, sopping wet. He shed his outer garments with a *splat*. "Better make that three. Here," Watson flung the mail to the coffee table. "I fear it may be a touch damp, but it should still be readable."  
  
Holmes picked up and regarded the stack. "Junk," he threw the designated piece. "Junk, bill, junk...Halloa?"  
  
Lainia poked her head around the corner from the kitchen. "Hmmm?"  
  
"It looks like we'll be having our share of action today. What do you make of this?" Holmes handed Lainia the letter and envelope. She examined it minutely. The letter basically read "I have a problem of delicacy. Please help me. I'll be round at 3:00".  
  
"Hmmm...a male, left-handed, mild- mannered, greatly troubled, aristocrat, who spends much of his time at a club."  
  
Holmes face brightened up a bit. "Very good. How did you come to those conclusions?"  
  
"The ink is smudged here and here, indicating the left-handedness, and the writing is shaky, which isn't his norm. The writing is masculine, also. This paper has the watermark from the club, which, as you know, is very exclusive and one would have to be rich to attend."  
  
"And the mild-manners?"  
  
"I just threw that in for good measure."  
  
"Never say anything until you have facts to back it up, but we shall say in a moment, because that noise on the stair must be him."  
  
Lo and behold, a well-dressed, soft spoken and very shaken man entered our living room. He began babbling incoherantly.  
  
"She's dead! Dead, and I simply don't know what I'll do. I'll be ruined. Murdered, she was!! They...they..slit her delicate little throat...her blood everywhere...don't know where to turn...," this man grew les and less articulate with every passing second.  
  
"Come now, Mr. Fairfield," Holmed coaxed. "Let us sit, have a brandy," Fairfield accepted the brandy unsteadily with his left hand, "and recall the events for us from the beginning."  
  
He hesitated a moment, looking between Watson and Lainia uncertainly, before determining it safe to speak. "There really isn't much to say. Yesterday, I left at 10:00am, after my morning walk, for the club. I lunched there, and returned home at 5:00pm. I went to our bedroom, to clean up for dinner, and she was lying on the bed, throat slit, the knife they did it with not far from the bed...the whole scene, I'll never forget. It was awful..." He began to pale again.  
  
"What does the Yard say about the matter?"  
  
"Not much. They took pictures, bagged the knife, brought my wife to the morgue, and left this morning. The scene is still taped off."  
  
"Did Mrs. Fairfield have any enemies?"  
  
"Not that I know of."  
  
"Was your wife acting differently, in any way, before this happened?"  
  
"No, everything was just fine."  
  
"Did she say or do anything that may pertain to this? Come now, even the smallest and seemingly ridiculous details may prove helpful."  
  
"Come to think of it, she made it a special point to say she loved me. The way she said it though...it was somehow...different. Do you know what I'm saying?"  
  
"Yes, I see." Holmes rose from his chair. "Mr. Fairfield, there is not much I can do for you. It seems like Yard is handling the case beautifully."  
  
"No! You must come!" Fairfield was in such earnest, that Holmes would have to feel guilty if he didn't go.  
  
Very well," Holmes replied resignedly. "Bring your car round front. We'll be down to follow you in 5 minutes." Fairfield obeyed, and Holmes waited until Fairfield was out of hearing range to speak his mind.  
  
"I don't want to be premature, but this sound like a case of neglect and suicide," he remarked as he sadly shook his head. "For years, Fairfield has no time for his wife. She begins to feel worthless and one day does something about it. What a sad existence." Holmes pulled on his trench and one of those 20's- style hats (think rat pack), and threw Lainia her trench.  
  
"Hey Holmes, what's with the threads? Am I rubbing off on you that much?"  
  
Holmes settled his hat over one brow, cooly. He did look kind of rat pack- y. "I thought I'd shake that 1870's consulting detective look of my grandfather."  
  
Lainia nodded approvingly. "Slick. Aren't you coming along?", she addressed Watson.  
  
"I'm wet enough as it is. I think I'll dry out by the fire and sit this one out."  
  
"Suit yourself."  
  
Holmes picked up two black umbrellas and held the door open. "Shall we?"  
  
Lainia took her umbrella from Holmes. "We shall." 


End file.
